


Gold-plated, Silver-blooded

by Laonhana



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Erik is a Little Shit, F/M, Family, I don't know what I'm doing but I needed this fic, M/M, Multi, Relationship tags will change, t'challa is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laonhana/pseuds/Laonhana
Summary: The sunset of Wakanda is every bit beautiful as Erik's dad used to tell him, but at the same time it's like looking at a colorless picture....Objectively, he understands his dad is dead.---Alternatively, the fic where T'Chaka brings Erik back to Wakanda, and Erik grows up alongside T'Challa and Shuri (like he should've).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In no way do I claim right to any of the characters except a few created for plot purposes.  
> Also, if I make any mistakes in referring to Wakanda and/or Africa in general, please tell me in the comments

The sunset of Wakanda is every bit beautiful as Erik’s dad used to tell him, but at the same time it’s like looking at a colorless picture.

 

Somehow, it feels like the sun is mocking Erik. The dash of red and rose-pink and gold across the sky, the dark green trees brushing against the rays of dying light. Objectively, he understands that this is a marvelous sight.

Objectively, he also understands that his dad is dead.

There’s his uncle, the one his dad used to look so sad while talking about. He’s standing with Uncle James (Zuri?) at the pilot’s seat of the ship. Two tall women, dressed in some scarlet garb and wielding razor-sharp spears, flank either side of them. Erik is curled against the wall opposite, with his hastily packed suitcase (there’s only one, and his school-bag) propped up at his feet.

He can hear his uncle’s worried and saddened voice, murmuring to James about Erik. And, of course, about Erik’s dad. (He can’t quite bring himself to care; what does it matter, what they think? Dad is _dead_.) N’Jobu, the king calls him. Killed by a job gone wrong. (Ulysses Klaue?)

And he, Erik, is N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu. He just doesn’t quite feel like it yet.

The ship drifts through a fake canopy. Erik, for a moment, is confused about it. But then again his dad has always told him that Wakanda is different from any other country. Perhaps, he thinks, this is one of those differences.

Swinging silently between the tall buildings, they settle down on the edge of some palace-like building’s balcony. The ship almost lets out a sigh as it lands, hatch silently hissing open. The king turns to Erik. When the boy looks up, he sees the man’s outstretched hand.

“Come, N’Jadaka,” T’Chaka says. “It is late, and you should see your home.”

When Erik hesitates to follow, T’Chaka looks even wearier. He dips his head in almost a bow, before carefully walking closer to Erik.

“N’Jadaka,” the king says, “I am sorry for your loss. N’Jobu was your father and my brother- he will be returned to our ancestors soon. I will not let my brother down... please. You must rest, N'Jadaka. N'Jobu will have my head in the afterlife if you do not. We can talk tomorrow about what you want to do, yes?”

(This man, this man has lost his brother. But Erik has lost his father, and his home, and what little that had been his.)

Erik nods weakly, his dark brown eyes downcast to the floor. When T’Chaka offers his hand, Erik does not take it, but this time he stands to follow the man outside the ship.

Yet he can’t quite bring himself to step out of the ship. Even when the others are all standing below and waiting for him to come down, Erik almost feels like his breath is sticking in his throat- there, here is the home his dad loved so dearly.

For a moment, Erik wonders if leaving this ship means he can’t go home anymore. He supposes so, with all the secrecy and stuff. He’d laugh at his situation any other day. A lost son of a lost prince, leaving behind a dead family and looking for a new one where he’s not entirely sure he’ll ever fit in.

Well, he thinks to himself. It’s not like things can get much worse from here.

He steps out into the Wakandan sunset, and he refuses to look back towards America.

(He refuses to look back towards his home.)


	2. T'Challa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T’Challa is seven (and growing) when he meets his cousin for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter's up! I'm planning to write about 10 chapters? 12? for this fic. Future chapters will be longer and have more time in between, but for now I wanted to have T'Challa meet Erik. Thanks for reading!

T’Challa is seven (and growing) when he meets his cousin for the first time.

 

When the call comes in that his uncle is dead (Uncle N’Jobu, with all his warm smiles and hefty laughter-), T’Challa does not expect to hear of a cousin. When baba tells him, T’Challa is both immediately fascinated and frightened.

Now, he watches in quiet trepidation as his baba’s ship lands. With a hiss, the hatch opens, the Dora Milaje standing at attention around the exit.

For a few moments, nothing happens. W’Kabi, who was standing beside him, fidgets impatiently. T’Challa almost does the same, before remembering his mother beside him. Instead, he stiffens his back and tries to stand up taller, even though he’s probably still the shortest child here.

The Dora Milaje slam the ends of their spears into the ground before turning towards the opening, all at once. The fluid motion is followed by the steps of T’Chaka.

The king slowly, but assuredly walks from the ship, his steps firm against the ground. T’Challa watches, curious, as his baba leads another man down the steps. For a moment, T’Challa wonders if that’s his cousin- but surely he’s too old?

Then, he sees a small boy hiding in the men’s shadows. He’s thin, but taller than T’Challa, with big, scared eyes and pressed-together lips. For a moment, T’Challa looks at him and sees nothing of N’Jobu. But then, when the boy grimaces and turns to hide his face, there he sees the thin line of his uncle’s blurry face, the same expression his uncle wore when he last contacted Wakanda.

T’Challa doesn’t remember much of his uncle, because the last time he’d ever seen the man was when T’Challa had been three years old. Even then, only for a few moments.

Still, he thinks, he must’ve been a good man, to have a son who looks so utterly wrecked at his death.

(T’Challa would try to imagine what it feels like, except to him, his father is invincible.)

His baba and the strange man- no wait, is that Zuri?- nears him and his mother. At his nod, the Dora Milaje are dismissed, and they march away with W’Kabi in tow. W’Kabi, still mourning his parents but trying not to show it, pouts and sulks as he is drawn away. T’Challa shivers a little at the departure of his best friend.

Ramonda stands proud and tall at T’Challa’s side, her slender hand placed surely on his shoulder.

“My love,” Ramonda says. Baba’s face breaks out into a weary smile at her greeting. He extends his arms towards Ramonda, and the two embrace for a moment. Their foreheads touch, just for a moment, before T’Chaka draws away.

“Bast, is he..?” Ramonda asks, when she catches sight of the boy hiding behind Zuri. T’Chaka nods, sorrow furrowing his brow and weighing down his face. His lips tighten as he turns toward the boy.

“Ramonda, T’Challa,” he says, “this is N’Jadaka.”

“Erik.” The boy speaks up for the first time. It looks like he didn’t mean to, and his eyes flicker warily from Ramonda to T’Chaka. “M’name’s Erik.”

T’Challa’s mother smiles sadly at the little boy. “Yamkelekile, Erik,” she says. “I am sorry for your loss.”

At her gentle voice, N’Jadaka- Erik- seems to relax. He peers up at her from behind heavy-lashed eyelids, his large eyes unreadable. T’Challa stares at this boy, his cousin. He is very different from all the other boys he’s seen. He’s different from other Wakandans.

“Hello, Erik,” T’Challa says, at the nudge from his mother.

An awkward pause follows. Baba just looks sad as his eyes soften; perhaps he’s remembering Uncle N’Jobu. T’Challa can’t help it- he fidgets a little, scrunching his eyes up.

“Ah, Aya,” Ramonda says, relieved. T’Challa spots a pair of Dora Milaje approaching them. Aya, the taller of the two, bows her head briefly. “My King, my Queen,” she turns to T’Challa and Erik, “my princes.”

“Aya, take the princes to their rooms. It is getting late; they must be tired,” Ramonda says. T’Chaka watches quietly as the two warriors nod sharply. “Come, my princes,” Aya says, “the sun has already set.”

As they leave, T’Challa sees his father drop his head into his palms. He looks tired, and much older than T’Challa has ever seen him. “Ramonda…” his baba whispers.

T’Challa tears his eyes away as his mother embraces his father again. This time, though, it looks more like T’Chaka is slumping into her arms than anything.

He turns his attention to his newfound cousin. The wary, dulled eyes are almost resigned as they follow Aya and her sister’s movements. He looks almost as weary as T’Chaka, who is a good few decades older than him. T’Challa feels like he needs to do something- like he has to wrap an arm around the taller boy’s shoulders, or like he has to sneak the boy some of the shiny new gadgets in from the labs. Erik reminds T’Challa of the time W’Kabi picked up a baby caraval, hurt by poachers, at the edge of the borders. (And oh, how much W’Kabi had been scolded for wandering off with T’Challa.) He has that same pained expression, the same bent shoulders.

T’Challa searches for something to say. The glint of the ring around Erik’s neck has him blurting out the first thing he thinks of.

“Did Uncle give you that?”

Erik’s brow furrows. “What?” he asks back.

T’Challa gestures towards the ring. “My father has the same ring. Did your father give you that?”

Erik shrugs. “Yeah.”

For a moment, T’Challa is silent, searching for something to answer with.

“He must’ve loved you very much,” he says. “Baba never lets me try his on. Did you know that it was grandfather’s heirloom?”

Erik side eyes him, like he’s thinking ‘what the _fuck’_. (His parents doesn’t know, but T’Challa is indeed well-versed in Western swear words; he blames T’Shan for that.) He kind of looks like T’Shan, actually, whenever he’s forced to watch T’Challa and W’Kabi while Ramonda and T’Chaka are busy. It’s the same sour-lemon look.

T’Challa almost blushes and stammers. “Um-“

The other boy just looks mildly uncomfortable at T’Challa’s blunder. The younger boy resists the urge to hide behind Aya’s spear. Why did he bring up Uncle N’Jobu again?

For all that he’s learned throughout his short seven years, T’Challa is still very much a child.

When they arrive at the T’Challa’s room, the Dora Milaje direct him sternly to bed. Erik follows them down the hall, the bag on his back looking uncomfortably out of place in the clean, elegant curves of the palace halls.

T’Challa watches him until he disappears around a bend. He slinks slowly to his bed, too alert and curious to sleep.

Maybe they can be friends someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey
> 
> (*T'Shan is a character in the comics- he's actually T'Chaka's nephew or sth but in this world he's a far relative of T'Challa and Erik's.)  
> (*Yamkelekile is Xhosa for welcome, apparently. Please tell me if I make any mistakes 8ㅁ8)


End file.
